Suppose you go."
"Suppose I do," said Freckles, with a glimmer of the old light in his
eyes and newly found strength to shoulder the otter. Together they
turned into the trail.
McLean noticed and spoke of the big black chickens.
"They've been hanging round out there for several days past," said
Freckles. "I'll tell you what I think it means. I think the old rattler
has killed something too big for him to swallow, and he's keeping guard
and won't let me chickens have it. I'm just sure, from the way the birds
have acted out there all summer, that it is the rattler's den. You watch
them now. See the way they dip and then rise, frightened like!"
Suddenly McLean turned toward him with blanching face
"Freckles!" he cried.
"My God, sir!" shuddered Freckles.
He dropped the otter, caught up his club, and plunged into the swale.
Reaching for his revolver, McLean followed. The chickens circled higher
at their coming, and the big snake lifted his head and rattled angrily.
It sank in sinuous coils at the report of McLean's revolver, and
together he and Freckles stood beside Black Jack.
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